


out here in the desert, your shadow lives on

by crypticjeggings



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Gen, Suicide, but not really?, not meant to be read as the musicians but as the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticjeggings/pseuds/crypticjeggings
Summary: “It looks like the start of yet another cheery day, Killjoys,” comes the crackly voice of Doctor Death Defying, one of the few constants and beacons of hope in their lives, from the old stereo sitting in Fun Ghoul’s lap. “The storm is approaching, and electricity crackles, fire waiting to spark. But don’t let that bring you down; the sun is coming for sure. If you look hard enough, you can spot the rainbows peering down from the sky’s shadow.”---Killjoys never die. Killjoys can't die. The four of them learn this the hard way.





	out here in the desert, your shadow lives on

 Killjoys never die.

Party Poison learns this the hard way. It isn’t fun, it scares the shit out of him, and it is a realization so grand that it forces them all to take a step back and just _think_ before they can bring themselves to discuss it.

They’re out in Zone 3, and Party Poison is driving the trans am like always. Fun Ghoul sticks his head out the top and cheers, lets out that cry they all knew so well; the one they shout whenever they were riding on the high of racing against the world and across the sun-cracked desert highways. The energy of the Killjoys is remarkable, and in certain moments, like now, they can’t help but scream that to the world. It always starts with just one person, then the infectious emotion spreads to the rest of them and the Killjoys will become just 4 boys, against the world, and cheering their lungs out. The same way everything began, and the way they planned to finish it.

Party Poison punches the gas and they shoot off, Fun Ghoul stumbling and sinking down onto his seat with a cackle as Jet-Star holds his arms out to brace him. All four heads are spinning, the way that they always did when that feeling of freedom truly hits them, giddy and unrestrained in the dry heat of the California weather.

It’s also in moments like this when they let their guard slip, and deliver themselves right into the growling and vicious hands of fate. Dracs on bikes spring out from behind a bend and Party Poison can’t do anything but slams his brakes and swerve, the car screeching and the scent of burning rubber shooting through the air. This isn’t the first time BL/ind had caught them off-guard, of course, but it’s still something they could’ve lived without. But by this point, he’s a master at making tight U-turns and skids through a half-circle, back tires over the road and on the dirt. Then, with barely a moment to catch their breaths, they’re off again, speedometer climbing higher and higher as they fly over the dusty asphalt.

“Fuck!” Kobra Kid shouts, voicing what is pounding through everyone’s bones. But he grins as well, one of the bright smiles that always end up spreading to everyone else. If Killjoys can never die, then neither can their spirit.

However, in the back of his mind, Party Poison knows that this won’t end well. With BL/ind already knowing their location, there are undoubtedly more agents already on their way to cut off their escape route. His grin fades as his attention turns to making a quick turn as they neared a crossroad, and he started muttering directions on what to do next and where to go, just for himself to hear.

One of the issues with living in the desolate and flat deserts is that it’s hard to lose anyone who’s on your trail. They all know this, they’ve all tried to make this escape before, but he still hopes that they get off easy this time and BL/ind will end their chase before a gunfight breaks out. His right hand lifts off the wheel absentmindedly and started to rub the beads on his still-steering left hand, a habit he’s picked up after years of wearing the strung stones around his wrist.

“Don’t kill us,” Fun Ghoul shouts, and that returns a laugh to Party Poison’s .

“It’s either me or the dracs, sweetheart,” he shoots back, a confident smirk forming on his face. There is something amazing about escaping the corporation, something about the way that the drum of his heart gets synced up with the rhythm of the road.

Sure enough, BL/ind sent more soldiers. When the four spot them, Party Poison slams the breaks and brings the car to a jerking halt, sending dust and pebbles flying. “Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” he announces, and within moments they’re all moving, kicking doors open and fumbling for their masks.

When it comes to an actual gunfight, they get a lot more serious. They know that they can’t fuck around, that the slightest hesitation or misstep can get one or more of them killed. But they never actually mess up, they know what they’re doing. They’ve memorized the time it takes for a shot to fire, the amount of space they need to cover in order to dodge a laser. They can’t fuck up.

But then Party Poison _does_ fuck up.

He should’ve been looking. He should’ve noticed the drac behind him, should’ve heard the scream that came from Jet-Star, should’ve seen the way that Kobra Kid’s eyes changed right before-

A laser rips through his chest, forcing a cry to erupt from his throat but get cut off because suddenly he can’t breathe he can’t think and red is blossoming along the corners of his eyes and someone’s screaming his name but no one’s near him no one can get to him where are they what is happening why-

Everything turns to white.

It’s not so much that he goes unconscious, it’s more like the scene just changes. The pain has dissipated but he claws at his chest anyways, feeling a throb where agony had been just seconds before. His mouth is still parted in a silent scream and he’s panting and writhing.

“Party Poison.”

His head snaps up and his arms freeze. He can’t tell where it’s coming from, but it sounds distinctly feminine, and he’s starting to become more aware that he’s not in agonizing pain still and actually feels quite fine, other than how weird and floaty his body is. It’s almost similar to when they were back in Battery City, all medicated and hazy so that they could be easily controlled.

“Party Poison.”

There’s the voice again. He looks around another time, but he still can’t make much out except that the area is just blank and stretches on and on. He can’t tell if it’s coming from anywhere in specific, and he would’ve put more time into his search but his stomach jolts and he realizes he’s plummeting through the emptiness and his arms are suddenly out again, trying to grasp at something, anything.

The voice reaches out to him once more. “It’s not time.”

He jerks awake and is instantly greeted with the musky yet familiar scent of sweat and dirt collected in the backseat of the trans am. The ache in his chest is back but when he grabs for where the injury should be, all he finds his ripped clothes, matted blood, and freshly scarred-over skin.

Once the ringing fades from his ears he becomes aware of the panicked shouting coming from the front seats. His brothers, twisting over the backs of the chairs and grabbing at him.

“Party? Party? What the fuck?”

It’s a blur of sounds and noise and he’s starting to become a bit nauseous, and the car hurtling down the street as Fun Ghoul tries to keep the steering wheel steady and not crash is becoming a bit much. He wants to lean out the window and retch, but can’t find the energy to do so.

Before he knows it, someone is climbing into the backseat as well. It’s Jet-Star, and he props Party Poison on his chest and starts combing through his hair with his fingers. “Jesus Christ, what was that? Poison, you there?”

Party Poison wants to speak but his words turn into a cough before they can fully tumble out of his mouth. It takes a moment, and Jet-Star rubs his shoulders in what he probably thinks is a calming way (and it is, vaguely), and waits for him to talk. But he can feel the other’s hammering heartbeat through the black jacket, and he can hear the hushed but clearly stressed tones of Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul talking to each other.

“I- What happened?” He finally wheezes out.

“You died, what the fuck do you think happened?” Barks out Fun Ghoul. “We were terrified. I don’t know how we made it out of there both alive and with your body.”

Party Poison’s head is spinning. He did die, didn’t he? That must’ve been what that white space was, right? He doesn’t know what to say at first but before he knows it, hoarsely whispers, “She said it wasn’t time yet.”

Fun Ghoul’s eyes snap from the road back at him, and it shows in the way that the car shudders as the wheel twists in his hands. Kobra Kid’s mouth is parted slightly, and Jet-Star’s hand clenches against his shoulder.

“Who said that?” Kobra Kid asks, clearly trying to keep as much composure as possible when your friend just died and came back to life. “What do you mean, she?”

“I don’t know!” Party Poison replies, slightly louder this time, and crosses his arms. “I just- I was in a white room and I felt like I was falling and I heard that. I think I almost went to the afterlife or something.”

The words hung there. Jet-Star takes his hands off Party Poison’s shoulder and starts fiddling with his own jacket instead. No one seems like they had anything they wanted to say, like they don’t know if there’s anything one could say in response to that.

“I guess they were right, Killjoys never die, huh?” Fun Ghoul mutters.

And even though Party Poison is still freaked out by everything that just happened, that earns a laugh from him. It rattles around in his chest and before he knows it he can feel Jet-Star chuckling silently behind him.

“Can we just talk about this when we get back to the diner?” Kobra Kid asks, voice quiet, and Party Poison nods.

“Yeah.” It’s probably better for all of them to just let there be empty space for a few minutes. To let each of them process their thoughts and try to grapple with whatever the hell just went down. Kobra Kid clicks the radio on and Mad Gear and Missle Kid starts to play, thrumming in the background and helping hold together whatever sanity is left. That’s what music’s always been good for; it keeps one from falling apart even when there’s nothing left holding them together.

They pull up to the diner slowly and the keys are shifted in the ignition, engine shutting off. None of them move for a solid few seconds, and when they do, they gather around Party Poison’s door and help him get out. He actually hasn’t had to stand up yet, and while he thinks he could probably manage on his own, he’s glad they’re there.

They get him settled across one of the dingy booth seats, then squeeze in next to and around him. Still, no one speaks, and it’s like this for a long minute before Fun Ghoul sucks in a breath and finally breaks the silence.

“So, is _no_ one going to talk about what just happened?”

“Of course we are, idiot,” Kobra Kid retorts, “We’re just thinking about it first.”

This raises the glimmer of a smile from Party Poison, who still loves the way they bicker. But it doesn’t fall so well on a night like this.

Jet-Star sighs. “Ok, so _what_ happened exactly?”

Party Poison drums his fingers on the countertop, apprehensive. “Well, we had a fight with BL/ind, and I died.”

“And then what?”

“Um,” Party Poison glances up at the ceiling, “Some lady in the afterlife tells me it wasn’t my time?”

“Do you think it was… The Phoenix Witch?” Kobra Kid offers. Party Poison swallows and taps his fist in thought. They’d never had actual proof of her existence, but most of them liked to imagine she was real. It was comforting, to imagine that there’s someone out there watching over you. Party Poison didn’t believe in all that stuff before the wars, but now… Who knows? The world is full of surprises, isn’t it? He shrugs, not sure how he could respond to that verbally.

“So, what do we do?” Jet-Star says, voice quiet. Party Poison bites his lip as he thinks.

“Try not to die anyways?” He offers. That earns him a smile or chuckle from the rest of them, but no one sounds very excited.

* * *

Fun Ghoul is the next one it happens to.

They were racing away again, the wind coursing through their veins and he's leaning out the top, guns blazing.

The only warning for what happens next is Party Poison swearing as the wheel jumps in his hand, and then Fun Ghoul is tumbling out onto the sand and rocks next to the road, arms flailing before he goes limp as he slams against the earth.

"What the hell?" Cries Kobra Kid, ripping his sunglasses off as he twists and tries to look out to where Fun Ghoul is lying. "Party Poison, we gotta go back!"

Party Poison is cursing even more now, mind reeling to accept what just happened. Jet-Star is also twisting to look out over the top.

"No, we can't, they'll get us too-"

Kobra Kid's fist slams down on the side of the car. "I can't believe this, that you guys just..." He trails off as he slumps down.

"We'll go back once they're off our trail," Party Poison growls, and they keep on soaring past the dirt and cacti as if nothing had ever happened.

They do go back and, by some miracle, BL/ind hadn't taken his body. However, there is already one of the signature black and white body bags wrapped around him, which also is a hint as to which exact fate met Fun Ghoul after he'd been knocked out. The three Killjoys exchanged a look before Jet-Star took initiative and started to unzip the bag.

There's a lump in Party Poison as he stares down at the body.

Blood cakes Fun Ghoul’s forehead and there are two blaster marks in his shoulder. Blood also stains the bottom of the bag red. Party Poison hates seeing one of his friends, brothers, like this.

Jet-Star starts to unwrap the fabric from around Fun Ghoul, and the others are quick to join in. They would never let one of their own stay in one of these ghastly bags that are just a symbol of the trail of bodies BL/ind carelessly leaves behind. Then, once that's done, they heave him up and carry him back to the trans am.

Or at least, that was the plan. Fun Ghoul has always had a way of ruining plans though, and he continues this trend when he suddenly becomes animated and flails. All three Killjoys react in some way or the other and then he hits Party Poison square across the face with the back of a thrashing hand and causes him to release his grip.

Fun Ghoul falls back to the ground with a thud and goes still.

"Great," Kobra Kid says. "You've killed him again."

They all stare down, dumbfounded, until Fun Ghoul's fingers start twitching and they're jolted back into the moment. Party Poison scrambles to kneel beside him and lift his head up onto his lap. The others are sitting beside the two as well, Kobra Kid petting his knee and Jet-Star checking his injuries.

"They've healed over," the latter says with an incredulous voice.

Of course they did. All of this is eerily familiar to Party Poison, who lived- well, actually, died- through this before.

Fun Ghoul coughs and before his eyes open or his voice comes back fully is already going off about whatever just happened.

"Party was right, that place looked endless, and that voice was fucking weird. Why does it know my name? Well, I mean, I guess that's not that big of a deal but-"

Party Poison starts laughing, which causes Fun Ghoul to go quiet.

"Damn, not even dying can shut him up," comments Kobra Kid, which only causes Party Poison to laugh even harder and start to double over, chest shaking.

Jet-Star starts laughing as well, and then so does Fun Ghoul (though the chuckle ends up turning into a cough punctuated with a "fuck, ow, why did no one tell me this would hurt"). Even Kobra Kid's lips curl up into a smile, though he seems to be the one most shaken up by this.

"Wait so, can we just... Not die?" Jet-Star asks.

Party Poison's laughter dies in his throat as he swallows. "I don't know," he responds. "Sure seems like it."

"What, you're not even going to ask if I'm alright?" Says Fun Ghoul, which earns him a smack on the shoulder. "Ow, I'm the one who just died!"

The three of them help him get onto his feet and into the passenger’s side of the car. Fun Ghoul insists he can ride in back but Jet-Star sends him a glare that says, loud and clear, that he will _not_ let him.

This time on the car ride back, however, they’re not quiet. Party Poison adjusts the mirror before starting the car and then addresses Fun Ghoul.

“You gotta tell me everything that happened. If it’s the same thing that I went through, we need to know.”

Fun Ghoul hums. “Well, first off, the pain faded.”

Party Poison nods.

“And then there was just white, _everywhere_ , and someone was saying my name.”

Alright, the same so far.

“And then I started falling.”

Basically, a word for word recount of what Party Poison experienced. He sighs and looks out the window, a hand wandering to tap against the outside of the car door absentmindedly. “Did they say anything else?”

Fun Ghoul’s eyebrows furrow. “Nope, that was it. Or at least I think that was it. Actually, I’m not quite sure? I was sort of terrified at the moment, I didn’t know what the fuck was happening.” He laughs, nervous this time.

“I just don’t understand,” voices Kobra Kid from the back. “What’s the point? How? This just doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it’s like some weird sort of fate,” Jet-Star mused. “Like, we haven’t completed our destiny yet, and the universe needs us.”

“You give us more credit than we deserve,” Party Poison responded dryly. “You think the universe needs us, or even cares? I doubt it.” But something in him knew that he was right. There was no other explanation, no way he could try and write these things off as a weird accident or coincidence. They’d both been dead for sure, and they’d come back to life. Even if he tried to reason that maybe they weren’t _actually_ dead, and had just passed out or something, it didn’t change the fact that their wounds had literally healed up in hours.

Nothing could explain or reason with the fact that something beyond them had just happened.

* * *

“What do we do about it?”

Party Poison doesn’t look up from the map of the zones splayed out before him. “Hm?”

Kobra Kid shuffles across the room and drops into the chair across from him. “The whole like… Dying thing, ya know?”

Oh. Party Poison clears his throat. “Well, I mean, there’s not much to be done. I feel like we should just keep on living the same way. We shouldn’t try testing the limits of destiny and it’s will to keep things on course.”

Kobra Kid nods, but there’s something else on his mind. Something troubling him, and it shows from the way that he rubs his knuckles and stares down at the table.

Party Poison knows that the other won’t tell him what’s up unless he directly asks, so he sighs and looks up from his map. “Listen, Kobra, if there’s anything you wanna say-“

“I’m just worried, okay?” The other admits and cuts Party Poison off. “And a bit confused too.”

“What are you worried about?” he whispers, voice softening in a hopefully comforting way.

“I just,” Kobra Kid sits back and combs a hand through his unruly bleached hair, starting to grow long enough that it needs to be cut. “If this is a destiny thing, what happens when everything’s over? What happens when we fulfill our, uh, fate? What then?”

Party Poison bites his bottom lip and starts to busy himself in smoothing out the shiny piece of paper laying across the tabletop. “I’m assuming we just get our lives back. We can return to the city, but after it’s become one where we can be ourselves. We’ll get everything we’ve been trying to win back all these years.”

“But what if we don’t? What if that’s… not what happens?”

Party Poison frowns, though he’s starting to feel a bit of the same worry that’s written across Kobra Kid’s face unfurl in his gut. “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“What if once it’s all over, that’s it for us? Do we owe our souls to the earth or something?” Kobra Kid gives an uneasy laugh. “Party, c’mon, we’ve spent too much time reading, watching, and talking about pre-war comics and flicks for you to just… not consider these things.”

He hates that Kobra Kid is right. Now that it’s been pointed out to him, he can’t help but admit that he has no idea what sort of consequences all this might have. The future is uncertain; the future is scary; the future is…

“The future is bulletproof,” Party Poison murmurs, not knowing what else to do except repeat the words he’s clung onto for all these years.

Kobra Kid looks startled by the sudden change of topic. “Huh?”

Party Poison shrugs, and gets back to marking off spots on the map. “Dunno. Felt right for the moment. Doctor D always seems to have the right words for a situation.”

“Oh.” Kobra Kid just sort of sits there for a moment, like he doesn’t want to move but doesn’t really want to be there either. He eventually gets up and says, “Alright. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Party Poison responds in an awkward tone, just adding to the stilted nature of the conversation. He never knows how to respond when asked about things like life and death. Everything that’s happened these past few weeks has been a lot to deal with or even think about, and when you start trying to consider the future as well…

That’s why Killjoys don’t talk about the technicalities of the future. They just dream, just talk about what they’ll do once this is over.

Plus, why make plans when nothing is guaranteed at all?

* * *

The sun beats down almost painfully on his back.

Party Poison is hunched over, trying to support the weight of an old wardrobe. Jet-Star is struggling to lift his end, the entire thing being entirely too heavy for its size and purpose. He hears Fun Ghoul chuckling a few feet away and looks up, glaring.

“If you wanna laugh like that, why don’t you hop on over here and try your hand at lifting this thing yourself?” He growls, and Fun Ghoul shakes his head.

“No thanks,” he responds with a smile still on his face. “It’s much more fun to watch you guys attempt this on your own.”

Party Poison wants to call him an asshole, but Jet-Star finally finds a grip and heaves it up, so he settles with giving Fun Ghoul another glare as the pair starts shuffling over to the yard of an abandoned home.

He doesn’t even know why they’re doing this. Kobra Kid had insisted it was necessary, since it was blocking the entrance-way to the house. But why must they enter this house in particular? There was nothing special about it, nothing that indicated that they _must_ go through this struggle just so Kobra Kid could poke around someone’s abandoned bedroom.

Though he was starting to think that the other two had just wanted a laugh.

There’s a loud crashing noise, and Party Poison nearly jumps in shock. “Oh, hell,” he coughs out. One of the drawers had come loose and fell, creating the noise.

Fun Ghoul is just laughing louder now.

Him and Jet-Star eventually finish moving the cabinet, and he stretches and yawns. They all go inside a few moments later, and find Kobra Kid in the kitchen.

He’s spooning out condensed milk from a can and gazing up at the wall. There’s a guarded look in his eyes. Party Poison follows his gaze up to see that the wall is covered in paintings, maps, and pictures, all plastered on it with some sort of glue. It’s been preserved rather well, despite the wind that broke open a window and blew sand in.

“You okay?” He whispers as he goes over by Kobra Kid’s side. He knows how sentimental the other can get, how much he can hate this life they chose; no, were forced into.

“They had dreams, Poison,” he speaks, eyes not tearing away from the wall even as several drops of the sweet and white sludge spills onto his jeans. “And all that got torn away from them.”

Party Poison never knows what to say when he gets into one of these moods, so he just rests a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s sick,” Kobra Kid spits out. Party Poison isn’t sure where the other two Killjoys went, they must’ve wandered to some other part of the house when they noticed the tension in the air.

“And that’s why we need to stop them.”

“I know,” he says. “I’ll destroy BL/ind, even if it’s the last thing I do. Even if it _kills_ me.” The last few words hang in the air and Party Poison swallows; suddenly brought back to the conversation they’d had just a few nights before. There’s an implication in the way that Kobra Kid says it; an implication that tells that he’s accepted that fate is out of their hands and the only way out is through.

“That’s the spirit,” Party Poison murmurs, then goes to look back up at the wall.

Kobra Kid was right when he said how sick it was. Some of the photos pinned up look very old, like they were taken decades ago, but others look more recent. Like they could’ve been taken mere months before the wars started and everything changed.

He had already taken note of the several maps, but now his eyes drift over to the largest one. It has all of North America on it, and the line of thumbtack and string goes up from California into Canada, then back down to New York and on to Florida, and ends all the way in Mexico. There are photos taken from magazines and newspapers, while some look like they are on cheap printer paper off of someone’s computer. Party Poison is sure that if he explored the house a bit more he would find a rundown computer, and maybe even a flash drive containing all the pictures on the wall. Not that it matters now; there’s not a single computer that would start after all these years.

Everything’s so green in the photos. There’s a magazine clipping of a family on vacation, the parents sunbathing as their teenage daughter tosses a beach ball across a pool to her younger brother. Party Poison hasn’t seen that sort of youthful energy in years; even before the wars there was a heavy mood hanging across the entire world, as if they knew what the upcoming years would bring.

And even more saddening are the pictures that were clearly taken around this very house. A young woman sipping coffee while trying not to laugh in the morning light, a fruit tree in back, a couple splayed in a patch of green grass together. It was clear that they had been so young and full of hope, already planning the perfect life that they would lead together-

Then again, they weren’t any younger than Party Poison is now, were they?

He’s only drawn out of his thoughts when Jet-Star runs down the stairs, every heavy and clunking step driving a nail into the balloon of thought Party Poison had been starting to drift off on.

“Hey guys, you should come up and check out what Fun Ghoul found upstairs, this place is like. totally awesome. I’m glad Kobra Kid decided to drag our asses in here.”

For a moment Party Poison considers declining the offer, but then he sees the grin across his friend’s face and feels any weight in his heart lifting. “We’ll be right up,” he says and nudges Kobra Kid back to awareness as Jet-Star starts up the stairs again.

* * *

The day has arrived.

All four Killjoys knew it was coming far before it actually happened. The sense of anticipation started weeks prior, but it kept building and building until they could feel the looming and black storm clouds of destiny approaching every moment. They never mentioned it to each other, of course, each choosing to deny what was coming.

_“It looks like the start of yet another cheery day, Killjoys,”_ comes the crackly voice of Doctor Death Defying, one of the few constants and beacons of hope in their lives, from the old stereo sitting in Fun Ghoul’s lap. _“The storm is approaching, and electricity crackles, fire waiting to spark. But don’t let that bring you down; the sun is coming for sure. If you look hard enough, you can spot the rainbows peering down from the sky’s shadow.”_

The trans am is speeding towards the city, the bumpy neglected roads slowly turning to a new and smooth highway that BL/ind maintains. No one is speaking except for the radio and the hiss of the road under their wheels.

_“Find comfort in the rain, in the chaos. Let it speak to you like God spoke to his disciples; hear how the thunder declares ‘Do not be afraid!’ The phantoms of the desert’s forgotten walk among us, and tell us to raise our heads high.”_

Like a dark omen, one that Doctor D had predicted, clouds _do_ start to fill the sky. It hasn’t actually rained in months, and even then, it had just been a light drizzle of acid rain. But now, as Party Poison swallows and looks up at the blackening horizon, he knows they’re in for a downpour.

_“And as always, keep your masks snug on your pretty faces and shoes tightened on your tired feet.”_

They’re close enough that he can make out the ever-smiling face of Better Living Industries.

_“Keep the music in your heart and life on the line.”_

Their many slogans, scrawled across the walls, are starting to become legible.

_“Killjoys, make some-“_

The radio cuts off with a crackle, leaving a buzzing static in its place.

They’re close enough that BL/ind has detected and blocked the radio wave. From now on they’re alone; the only thing accompanying them the looming reality of what’s about to happen.

They enter the tunnel, and any smiles that might’ve been on their faces before (but weren’t) are wiped clean off as they finally find themselves in the heart of BL/ind territory.

They blow past the first set of BL/ind guards easily enough, the pitiful amount of security almost seeming like it’s a direct invite for the Killjoys to come to them. Or maybe they just expected that no one would dare challenge their authority to that level, or think that they’ve drugged their citizens down enough to destroy any ounce of will to rebel.

Party Poison’s mind is starting to go blank with nervous energy, so he just tries to relax his limbs and let the growing adrenaline take over for him.

And just like that, they’re in the heart of Battery City.

They leap out of the vehicle, and head for the hallway. With every step, Party Poison feels more and more sure of himself. This is what they’ve been planning for years; this is what he was made to do. Every single moment of his life has been building up to this; to the fall of BL/ind.

The pristine white tile passes beneath his feet. Rows of posters filled with propaganda fill the walls. Though he’s not looking at the others, he can feel and picture the rest of the Killjoys next to him. Kobra Kid, with his jaw angled high and defiant. Fun Ghoul, his shoulders back and posture straight and tall. Jet-Star, gait steady and strong, like he isn’t about to fight the battle of a century.

The first wave of BL/ind workers hit right as they enter the third passageway. They’re no different than the normal soldiers the Killjoys encounter on the daily, so a couple shots square in the chest do the job.

And sure enough, once they step back out into the air of the bridge stretching to the main tower, the sky finally cracks open.

It starts with a single fat drop, landing on the bridge of his nose. Moments later, rain is pouring down all around them.

Though the clouds might’ve seemed like a bad omen before, relief pours over Party Poison as he stops and holds his hands out, feelings the water splatter across his skin. Around him, the other Killjoys have paused and are lifting their hands high, welcoming the storm. Fun Ghoul hollers in joy and tilts his head back, letting the rain splash across his face and tongue. Kobra Kid spread his arms out and just lets it soak him. Jet-Star does a small spin in the showers.

The rain feels like it’s cleansing Party Poison of all anxieties, of all fears and worries about what’s to come. Nothing matters except for the rain, and then they’re going to go in there and _give them hell_. The winds that brought these clouds are the same winds of change that will bring freedom to a world ravaged by oppression and dystopia.

In the distance, he can hear shouting. When he looks out at the city, he can see people coming out from their homes to stare with wide eyes at the rush of raindrops that fall and collect at their feet, starting to form rivers.

“Killjoys, let’s move!” He declares, and then they’re pressing onward. His chest feels so much lighter now, and he feels prepared for whatever’s ahead. No matter the outcome, he’s accepted it. Nothing can stop the course of destiny now.

This time, they’re met with actual dracs. The pitter patter of the rain turns into shouting as they rush towards each other, ray guns firing up. Everything’s a blur as he methodically works his way through soldiers, taking each one down in quick succession. While fighting, him and his brothers meld together. They become one, each movement fusing into the next and into the other.

He isn’t really aware of anything that’s happening until they’re dashing up the stairs. Jet-Star nearly slips due to the water they’re tracking behind but Fun Ghoul is there to steady him. They burst out into one of the top floors, face to face with a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.

Party Poison is jolted back into the situation with the sight, is reminded of how dangerous this is. He still doesn’t feel any panic in his bones, but he knows they must be more cautious.

He doesn’t get to voice this before Kobra Kid screams and dashes forward, eyes lit up in fury as he fires his ray gun.

Two things happen in quick succession. First, the laser bolt hits the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W right in the chest, and his eyes go wide as the Killjoys finally land the shot they haven’t been able to managed for years.

Next, Kobra Kid is falling to the ground while spluttering, crimson dripping down his back and onto his jeans.

The talk they’d had together, weeks before, enters Party Poison’s head yet. What happens now? Is this what fate had in store all along? Is this his actual end? Now that they’re waging their final offence, will they be needed no longer?

All of them drop to their knees by the side of a dying brother, joints screaming in agony as their kneecaps hit the ground. They can’t bring themselves to care.

His body has stilled by now, gasps no longer raking through him.

Party Poison is holding his breath, and he can feel the tension radiating from the others as well. The seconds seem to drag on for hours, and vaguely he knows that they should keep moving, but they’re all waiting, all hoping that-

Kobra Kid jolts back to life, eyes wide. “Holy _shit_ guys-“

Party Poison can’t hear the rest of what he says because their cheering drowns it out. By the time they’re done hollering and whooping, a smile is on Kobra Kid’s face.

“I guess our story’s not over yet,” he says, voice hoarse but steady.

They help Kobra Kid back to his feet, and though it’s slow going, they’re off again. Red lights started blaring at some point in the past three minutes, but Party Poison hadn’t noticed. They’re back at another surprisingly undefended staircase, and so they climb their way up to the final floor; to the final moments of their fight.

They find the director sitting calmly at her desk, framed by the dark sky as the wall behind her is entirely made of glass.

The room is split into two parts. On one wall, a camera is set up and filming a white backdrop with the BL/ind logo on it. Audio repeats on a loop, saying things like _‘Stay calm, and stay indoors. A better living awaits, and those who challenge that will be exterminated.’_ Party Poison realizes that it is being broadcasted to the entire city. In the other parts, it’s just a normal office.

The woman doesn’t move, cold eyes staring up at them. And with the same strength and determination that Kobra Kid had before, Party Poison steps forwards and shoots her between the eyes.

There’s silence, and then they realize they’ve done it. They charged through BL/ind, they brought down anyone in their way, they _won._

Or almost have, at least.

Party Poison marches over to the studio area with a triumphant grin on his face and drags his hand along the sheet on the wall, ripping the material. He then turns into the camera and says, loud and clear:

“BL/ind no longer holds any power over you. We have proven it. We are the Fabulous Killjoys, driven only by a desire to have the freedom to _live_. We don’t care about BL/ind’s ‘better future’, we care about the relationships and memories we form now. Look at the rain, don’t you want to bask in it? What’s stopping you? _Nothing_ , only the belief that you can’t. Change that belief. Run outside. Lift your palms to the sky and let the raindrops pour down your arms. Break free from you chains.

“A better living awaits you, but not one that’s moderated by machine and drugs. The better living I’ve chosen is one where I’m free to be who I want; and live life without being chained down by the rules and expectations of a government who wants you to be their model citizen, who will suck color from your life just so everything can look the same.

The future is yours to make. The future is bulletproof.”

He then leans forwards and, with a swing of his arm and the handle of his gun, smashes the lens of the camera and shoves all the equipment to the ground, relishing in the loud crash.

He looks up at the others, and the four of them stand there, chests heaving. Jet-Star is the first one to move, raising a hand to the sky and screaming at the top of his lungs. He screams joy, screams triumph. The others are quick to join in.

Party Poison rushes over to the massive window and presses his fingertips to the glass. He can already see the chaos starting. The streets are flooded with rainwater and people; people who are smashing windows and starting as many fires as they can through the storm. The same people who have finally been told that yes, they’re _allowed_ to be free. They’re _allowed_ to make their own choices.

It’s Fun Ghoul who chucks his ray gun against the glass, a move that was probably very dangerous, and also a move that causes a loud cracking noise to resound before the window shatters and falls away completely. Party Poison backs away, suddenly aware of how far down of a drop it is. The rain has started to blow in and coat the floor, and in an impulse move he rips his mask off and chucks it into the wind.

The four of them stand there, feeling the bitter drops and breeze whip through their hair. And even though a literal storm still rages, it feels like it’s the calm after _the_ storm.

“We made it,” Fun Ghoul whispers.

“We made it,” the rest of the echo in a murmur.

But by the time they finally turn around, they’re face to face with the director again. She stands tall, and Party Poison has to do a double take because her body is lying _right there_ in front of them, obviously dead.

“How sweet,” she says, voice dripping like a poisonous honey. “How sweet that you thought that Better Living Industries is defeated just because you came through and killed a couple soldiers. And how sweet that you thought that by stilling my body,” she wrinkles her nose and motions towards the corpse in front of them, “You were killing me.”

“No.” Kobra Kid is speaking now, voice loud and clear. “We may not have killed you. But hasn’t the damage been done?” He lets the words float there in the murmuring wind and rain that hits the floor. “We _have_ defeated you. BL/ind holds no power over the citizens of Battery City anymore. Sure, you may have your gunfire and your pills, but once someone’s made the conscious choice of defying you and your corporation,” He spits that word out, “There’s nothing anyone can do to change their mind. Can’t you hear the riots? Can’t you hear the rebellion? Can’t you hear the whisper coming over and with the wind, the whisper that says ‘the world has changed’?”

The director’s face distorts into a frown, and she draws her hands up, revealing a gun. “Maybe, but I suppose that it never hurts to kill you anyways. Oh, that in itself is almost an even sweeter victory; the Killjoys, the _Fabulous_ Killjoys will be killed at my hand.”

Though Party Poison is tempted to snarl that she’ll never kill them, she can’t, they’ll return, something in him stops. They’ve completed their mission, their destiny, what if there’s no coming back this time?

“You’ll never get that satisfaction,” Fun Ghoul spits out, and it’s like a pin drops. A ripple spreads through them, a decision is made. Party Poison clutches the hands of Jet-Star and Kobra Kid, standing next to him, feeling surprisingly calm for the situation.

“Killjoys never die,” the four echo in unison.

Still holding hands, they let themselves back away, to where the floor drops away and then they’re _falling_ , but they’re falling with each other. And this time, when the white greets them, it never fades away.

* * *

Turns out Killjoys _can_ die. But only once they’ve completed their purpose. And even then, that doesn’t mean that they’re completely gone. As the world struggles to rebuild, as they struggle to overthrow every inch of BL/ind power, they still whisper about the true lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. How they held their heads high even when faced with death, how they had some sort of blessing or curse and could never die, how they never gave up once.

Sometimes, if you tune in your radio while driving out in the desert, you can still hear Doctor Death Defying’s speaking over the airways. He was another larger-than-life figure. No one could find his station when trying, no one could keep their stereo on his channel. But anyone who overhears the shows he still does every day, even though the need for them is long gone, will hear the same message every night he signs off.

_“Though they might have passed long ago, their spirits, their joy, their dreams, are alive in the souls of every person who hears their story and decides to join their cause._

_Out here in the desert, your shadow lives on.”_

**Author's Note:**

> wHEW and this is posted! I wrote this during camp nano (my goal was 50k overall) over the course of a few days, and honestly? i think this may be the best thing i've ever written, much less posted. thank you to my friend adrian for being such a good beta (and i agree on the comment you left on my google doc, mikey way has a GREAT jawline)! 
> 
> please, if you enjoyed this, leave kudos or a comment to make a writers day! thank you for reading


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